


Double Down

by ch1ps0h0y



Category: Hellsing, Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Black Organization (Meitantei Conan), Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M, Other, Personal Canon, Role Reversal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-01-05 16:00:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18369320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ch1ps0h0y/pseuds/ch1ps0h0y
Summary: A series of out-of-context drabbles for a fey/fantasy/Black Org crossover between DCMK and Hellsing, started between myself and a friend.Featuring Kaito and Shinichi as Black Org operatives, Moscato and Absinthe, and Walter Dornez as a traditional fey.(Not stringently proof-read, individual chapter quality not guaranteed.)





	1. Betrayal

**Author's Note:**

> In this chapter, Kaito has struck a deal with Walter to leave the organisation in return for saving his parents' lives. This is part of the fallout.

His mother slid into the seat across from him. Kaito watched her like a hawk as she leaned forward, elbows on the table, fingers interlaced, an impenetrable smile on her lips.

"Everyone is searching for you," she told him. He knew that. He had fended off eight assassination attempts in the past month alone.

"Well, you found me," he said bluntly. "So what's YOUR plan to do away with me?"

Chikage laughed softly and shook her head. "Oh, you silly boy. You know how I work. If I wanted a shot at you, I wouldn't be sitting here trying to convince you to come back."

"To come back...?" he echoed. His heart clenched. But as ever, his yearning to return sparked a low throbbing in his head. He pressed his lips together and shut his eyes. "I can't," he gritted out.

He heard a faint squeak of faux leather as she leant back. "Not 'won't', but 'can't'... Why?"

"I... I just can't." The fey's existence was still a binding secret. He could feel his throat start to seize up if he even thought to try and tell his mother. "If you're here to try and kill me then get it over with." It would be better, he thought, than living day to day with the threat of death hanging over his shoulder. He missed his parents more than he could say. He wanted to reach out to his mother, have her hold him as she once had when he was younger.

Kaito sucked in a sharp breath as the pain in his head spiked. _I want to go back, I want to--_ He dropped his head in his hands with a hiss.

Chikage was silent. He felt her lean over and rest a gentle hand on his head, fingers carding through his hair as though he were a boy again.

"Oh, my dear Kaito," she murmured. "What have they done to you?"

I hate him, Kaito thought vehemently. Even though he himself had been the one to bargain his life away. Even though he would have died had he not begged for that small mercy. He had been so sure of his choice then. This was the price was it? Lifelong regret?

He sensed his mother sitting back and lifting her hand to call a server over. "Let's order a drink, Kaito. I'll have a latte."

"...Hot chocolate."

The server bowed slightly then left. Kaito focused on calming himself so that the headache eased. His mother said nothing, only watched with inscrutable eyes as he finally sat up straight.

"You had so much potential, Kaito," she said quietly. "It's a shame."

He had nothing to say to that. He could have gone far. He and Absinthe had been the pride of their trainers and the organisation. Now Absinthe was gods-knew-where and he had bound himself to the word of a fairy in order to save his family.

Their drinks arrived. Kaito watched carefully as his was set before him. It wouldn't surprise him if something extra had been snuck into the drink. His mother, no doubt expecting his suspicion, spoke up.

"I know the barista, and all the staff are long-time employees. It's safe."

He shot her an uncertain glance. That only made it more suspicious. But surely...the circumstances didn't favour a poisoning attempt. It would draw too much attention to herself.

He took a cautious sip, conscious of her doing the same. His mind ran through all possible poisons that could be concealed in his drink. Most of them worked immediately.

He did not feel any adverse effects after a minute had passed. He took another sip.

His mother began chatting about his father, how he was handling the talk of Kaito's betrayal with his usual aplomb. Kaito found his mind wandering as she rambled on, thoughts unable to focus. It was only a slight change, but it immediately alerted him. Something was wrong. What...?

His eyes dropped to his cup. It wavered - or was he swaying? No. Stupid. Not poison but a soporific agent--

His mother broke off her chatter. "Kaito, are you alright?" Fake concern dripped off her tongue. He dug his nails into the palm of his hands and glared at her.

"You drugged me," he hissed. He didn't know why he felt any shock. Of course she would. She wouldn't hesitate to kill her own son. She must have organised for a heavy dose if only two sips had reduced him to this state.

"You look tired. I think I should take you home." She stood smoothly and came to his side. He tried resisting as she hauled him up, snapping that he didn't need her help. But then he glimpsed the eyes of the rest of the cafe on them and realised that making a scene would only benefit her.

Shit. She had trapped him even more neatly than the rest.

He had to let her support him outside. There was a nondescript car waiting for them by the curb. Kaito dug in his heels then, trying to wrest free even though his head spun and his limbs were weak.

His mother gripped his arm and twisted it back, sending a sharp warning jolt through his shoulder. Their bodies concealed the act from passers-by as she murmured in his ear.

"Get in the car, Kaito. Or I'll break your wrist."

Kaito weighed his options. Broken wrist or not, he wouldn't get far with the drug in his system if he tried to run. Yelling for help could easily be turned against him.

He got into the car.

His mother held on to him even as they climbed in. No doubt she knew he would try and abscond through the opposite door given the chance. And she would have been right.

As soon as he was seated, he felt a sharp prick in the side of his neck. He twisted his head around, eyes wide with shock. But before he could get a single word out, the world swam and dissolved into black. He was vaguely aware of toppling sideways across the rear seat.

 _I don't want to die_ , was his last thought before oblivion took him.


	2. Two-Pair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter occurs after Moscato's first (failed) attempt on Walter's life, where in exchange for not being killed he's forbidden from communicating Walter's true nature to anyone else. This is chronologically set while he is still in high school (i.e. well before chapter one).
> 
> It contains implied consensual under-age sex between two seventeen-year-olds.

Absinthe was accustomed to being bombarded with text messages from his partner close to the end of the school day. He had come to expect it as a daily ritual of sorts. Three-fifteen and the gates were flung wide open to a deluge of complaints, commentary, and inane questions asking about his progress. He didn't always answer the messages when they came - sometimes obligatory work crossed over into that sacred quarter-hour - but he knew they would be there, waiting for him when he next glanced at his phone.

Which was why the reduction of messages from some odd-thirty to a mere five today was serious cause for concern.

He pondered the red bubble on his screen. Five messages. Tapped open the message app.

 _God, today was so boring_ [15:20]  
 _Hakuba's hiding that wound well but he keeps wrinkling his nose when people jostle him_ [15:21]  
 _Exams coming up in a couple weeks, might need your help with heists_ [15:21]  
 _How's things on your end?_ [15:25]  
 _Absiiiinthe_ [15:30]

Perhaps he was overthinking and today had been an exceptionally lacklustre day? Moscato always did heckle him about his penchant for needlessly complicating things. However, Absinthe trusted his instincts over anything else, and those instincts were telling him something was off.

 _Did something happen today?_ [18:09]

He sent that off and waited for the inevitable, instant response. Ten minutes later, he grew concerned. Fifteen minutes later, he called Moscato's number and waited while the dial tone vibrated against his ear.

It took far longer than he liked for the other teenager to pick up.

"Hey."

Absinthe closed his eyes and held back a sigh of relief. "Moscato," he said, "why didn't you answer my text? You always answer within five minutes."

"Sorry for not checking in, _mum_ ," came the sarcastic response. "I was in the shower."

Absinthe bit back a retort. Okay, perhaps he could have made his tone less clipped. Sarcasm had ever been Moscato's fallback when something bothered him. He moderated his tone accordingly: "You said you were going to take your classmate out yesterday. How did that go?"

There was a pause. Not a long pause, but long enough for Absinthe to smell the lie when his partner said, "Oh, I decided to put that off. Couldn't find a good moment."

Absinthe wandered to the window of his small apartment, keeping to the side of the window as he looked out over the Seine. "Moscato... What happened?"

"Nothing happened." Immediate. Defensive. Snappish. "Geez. Is that the only reason you're calling me?"

This time Absinthe did sigh. "No. You said you need my help?"

He listened quietly while Moscato rapped out the details of 1412's next anticipated theft. Mentally, he slotted the date in-between his prior engagements. It might be tight, but if he shifted certain tasks a little earlier, he should be able to manage. Unlike his partner, he did not have to attend school at the moment.

"Should be easy to take care of." He wandered back over to his desk and nudged the mouse. Brought up the desktop calendar and added in the relevant dates and tasks. "I'll meet you on, let's see... Sunday to go over the details?"

"Sure."

The line clicked. Moscato had hung up. Absinthe stared at the call screen, baffled.

Something was wrong, and he was going to find out what.

 

He took the bullet train to England carrying only a backpack of all the barest essentials he needed. He adjusted the reversed baseball cap he wore and slouched out the station exit. For once, the sun was peeking out and sharing its meagre rays with the normally overcast country.

He consulted the map on his phone. There. The cafe they had agreed to meet at.

Absinthe made his way there and quickly spotted his partner at a table near the back. He walked over, pulling up a vibrant smile. Like old friends greeting one another.

"Heeey, Kaito! Sorry, did I keep you waiting?" He dropped his bag on the floor and fell into the vacant seat, leaning an elbow on the table. Already, he was scrutinising Moscato's face and body language. The other boy was tired. In the moment before Absinthe had greeted them, he had glimpsed a frown - quickly smoothed out for a neutral mask. That 'poker face' Moscato's father had taught to them both.

Something had definitely happened.

He refrained from probing for now. He wanted his partner at ease with him. "So, shall we get drinks?"

"I already ordered for us." As if on cue, a server came by their table and set two mugs before them. One carried the rich, dark scent of the bitterest coffee; the other, a milder blend of chocolate and caffeine. Absinthe allowed himself a smile.

He lifted his mug and took an appreciative sniff. Raised an eyebrow at his partner. At their small nod, he took a small sip, closing his eyes briefly as the coffee hit his tongue. Beautiful.

Moscato copied him, though with far less reverence. He took a sip then began to stare out the window, watching a gaggle of tourists pass by. Absinthe used the opportunity to study him, noting Moscato's idle, restless fingers running over their mug. They were unusually quiet. Typically by now, Moscato would be leaning forward, eyes gleaming as he outlined his broad plan for Absinthe's consideration. Not staring silently at the street.

Absinthe cleared his throat, snapping his partner's attention back to him. "Well?" he prompted. "What's the game plan?"

Moscato stared at him for a second before the question seemed to arrive at its destination. His eyes cleared and he finally leant forward. Absinthe echoed his movements.

"For the next round I'm thinking you can provide cover this time. Keep watch mostly. Doubt you're gonna get a clear line of sight, but if you do then take a shot at your discretion."

"You really want to do away with this team, huh," Absinthe commented wryly. Talking like their business was a competitive shooter game served well to throw off idle eavesdroppers.

Moscato smirked. It seemed to contain a mere shadow of his usual confidence. "They're always running circles round us. We gotta get one up on them someday."

Absinthe barked out a laugh and sat back in his chair. "Too right. Let's make it count."

They chatted about other inane topics, briefing one another on their respective progress, until they had finished their drinks. Then they left the cafe and made their slow way back to Moscato's apartment. As they walked, Absinthe was content to let his partner fill in the silence. He laughed where appropriate, made sympathetic sounds as needed, and offered his take on issues Moscato had come across while trying to integrate at school.

For a while, he could believe that life was proceeding as usual. Moscato seemed happier filling in everything Absinthe had missed out on by not attending school. He envied the freedom Moscato had, but did not envy the need to navigate school-ground politics.

When the door to Moscato's apartment had shut behind them, Absinthe reached out and touched their hand. As they turned, he drew in close and nipped their ear, murmuring.

"Missed you." He offered a smile, one devoid of pretence or expectation, holding the other boy's eyes to see what their response would be.

Moscato looked surprised. Absinthe saw a beat of hesitation before the other boy leaned in and brushed their lips together.

"You shower first." Moscato pulled away and flapped a hand towards the bathroom. He disappeared into the kitchen.

Absinthe dropped his bag just inside the single bedroom, took out a change of clothes, and vanished into the aforementioned bathroom. As scalding hot water poured over his head, he wondered.

Amongst all his grumblings, there hadn't been a single mention of Moscato's chief annoyance: that classmate, Walter Dornez.

He finished showering and dressed sparsely, switching out with Moscato. No point buttoning up a shirt that would soon be removed. In the kitchen he found a bowl of fruit. He selected an apple to snack on while he waited for the other boy, absently dabbing the ends of his hair dry with a towel.

It was a credit to Moscato's skills at stealth that Absinthe didn't hear the other boy approach. A pair of arms slid over his shoulders, wrapping loosely while warm lips grazed the nape of his neck. Absinthe twisted around and met his partner's dark blue eyes.

"Bedroom," Moscato whispered against his mouth, lightly bumping their foreheads together before pulling away. "Once you're done eating."

Absinthe quickly polished off the rest of his apple and tossed the core in a bin. He watched his partner saunter into the bedroom, wearing nothing but the towel he'd used to dry himself, and waited a minute to compose himself before following.

Moscato was tossing aside a stray shirt when he entered the room. When Absinthe stepped in, they turned and offered him a hand with a smirk. He took it and let it draw him to the bed, let it draw them closer to one another until their bodies met in a cloud of residual heat and damp.

There was no love between them. None of that insipid, romantic fluff crooned about on the silver screen or in songs. No, their coupling was one of necessity and convenience. They couldn't give their hearts over to anyone outside the organisation, so they entrusted it to each other. They put the vulnerabilities of their flesh in each other's hands, voiced intimate expression only for one another's ears. They were two isolated children who didn't - couldn't - love anyone but themselves.

As Absinthe mouthed over the gentle slope of his partner's shoulder, he eased inside. A soft moan fluttered against the shell of his ear, thighs tightening around his waist. Pleasure was all they wanted. Pleasure enough to forget that outside these four walls, danger waited.

They would live and die as assassins for the organisation. That fact of life had been inscribed into their souls from birth. Absinthe didn't mind it - he saw it as a challenge, really, to outwit all the attempts on his life as well as to outwit ones who safeguarded theirs. But he knew Moscato was made of more volatile stuff. Pieces had been torn off the other boy while growing up, and while they did their best to hide it, Absinthe was sure those wounds still bled at times.

His lifted his head. Their lips and tongues twined as he rocked forward, stoking desire to its highest pitch. He plucked at the tension in Moscato's body, a bow drawing itself across taut strings, while his partner whined soft pleas into his mouth.

Tighter, tighter - until those strings suddenly snapped.

His partner melted against him with a shudder. Absinthe distantly noted the warmth splashing across his belly as he pushed himself over as well with a few more strokes. A low, drawn-out sigh broke out of him as he rode the waves of orgasm to shore. Afterwards, he opened his eyes to take in the status of his partner.

Moscato's expression was one of quiet contentment. It was relaxed, just as Absinthe hoped it would be. It was also...relieved.

He frowned and pursed his lips, only to quickly smooth out the expression when Moscato's eyes peeled open.

"How was that?" Absinthe asked.

The other boy gave him a lazy smile. It was small and insignificant, but it was genuine nonetheless. They raised themselves up by the elbows and gave him a lingering kiss. "Again," they murmured huskily.

For a few moments, he had _Kaito_ in his arms.


	3. Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a couple of years after high school, after Kaito's deal with Walter to leave the Organisation. This chapter contains semi-explicit sexual content between two adults with hints of sadism and humiliation. Chronologically, this is likely some time after chapter one.
> 
> (Saguru is still a detective, but was the real identity behind Phantom Thief 1412 in this AU. His father was killed in the line of duty by an Org member.)

"Hey."

Saguru looked up from his paperwork. Kuroba was at the doorway, leaning against the jamb in what he clearly hoped was a casual slouch, but Saguru could see the assassin's body was riddled with tension. The detective and sometimes-thief placed his pen down then sat up straighter. He did not lean back. One didn't relax when a former black operative was on their toes as Kuroba was.

"Is something the matter?" he asked. Polite, neutral - he still didn't trust the man, even if he allowed them under his roof. Walter trusted him, and he trusted the fey. That was all.

Kuroba's shoulders tensed. They sucked in an unsteady breath. "Walter said--" The man halted. Swallowed. "He said he enjoys having sex with you."

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. He blinked. Stared. "Ah."

Kuroba continued in an uncharacteristic rush of words. "I want you to show me how."

"'How'?" Saguru repeated, still staring. "As in...?"

"How to give him good sex," Kuroba finished abruptly, cheeks pink, arms wrapped defensively about himself. As if he was expecting ridicule.

Saguru wasn't going to lie to himself: he was sorely tempted to insert a sarcastic comment.

However, Kuroba reminded him of a coiled snake ready to hiss and spit. And like a snake, he was liable to strike at the smallest provocation. Saguru would have to tread carefully.

"What, exactly, did you want me to show you?" he asked slowly.

"I don't know." A jerk of the chin. Haughty eyes flashed. "Whatever it is he likes about...you."

In other words, Kuroba was too prideful to admit he was lacking and was foisting the response back to him. Very well.

"When you say 'show'--"

The other man flushed deep red. "Telling me how is fine too," Kuroba said shortly.

The reaction piqued Saguru's good humour. Perhaps that was the fey's influence. He propped an elbow on the table and leaned his cheek against the backs of his fingers, allowing a coy smile to tug at his lips.

"Oh?" he said. "But surely the lesson will _stick_ more thoroughly if I demonstrate."

"Look," Kuroba said irritably, no longer leaning against the door, hands clenched into fists by his sides, "if you're just going to mock me--"

"I'm not." Saguru stood and paced slowly over to the former assassin. Slowly so as not to startle them into running before he got there. He reached out a hand and caressed their cheek, a move which Kuroba flicked his head aside to avoid and glared.

"Don't get the wrong idea," Kuroba seethed. "I couldn't give a fuck about you personally. Just--"

"I understand," he interrupted. "This is purely a lesson, from one man to another. No emotional attachments." And with that said, he tilted Kuroba's chin up and kissed him.

He felt the former assassin tense. Movement like they were about to push him away. He gripped their upper arm and broke the contact briefly to murmur, "This is part of the lesson. The foreplay. You want a thorough experience, don't you?"

Dark blue eyes assessed him closely. Then they closed and Kuroba drew him closer for another kiss. He took that as acquiescence.

Though he knew Kuroba and the fey they shared had bedded each other separately, he had only heard second-hand what Kuroba was like as a partner. Walter described him as quick to bloom, quick to fade, but vibrant when those petals unfurled. From that flowery description, Saguru surmised Kuroba was 'passionate'.

It was hard to imagine the man that way. Kuroba had nothing but barbs to share with him since his defection. Saguru could see that he still yearned for his family, even though that same family had spurned him and chosen to remain behind with the organisation. What was more, Kuroba had never shown any reticence for the murders he had committed that Saguru had seen. The only thing keeping Kuroba from returning to the other side, as far as Saguru thought, was the deal he had made with the fey.

He put aside such ruminations for now and focused on the present. He brushed Kuroba's cheek with a thumb and moulded their lips together, kissing with the same fondness as he did their fey lover. Kuroba responded by backing him against the door frame and rocking his pelvis forward. Impatient arse.

Saguru threaded his fingers through the assassin's unruly hair and whispered as much to their lips. Then he bent his head and nuzzled their throat. Kuroba uttered a small sound of annoyance but suffered his attention, letting his hands wander over the buttons to the detective's shirt. Saguru halted them by gripping the other man's wrist.

"Do you want it that badly?" he whispered. It was meant humorously but he felt Kuroba's skin flush at the double entendre. The hands shifted away from his buttons and came to rest on his hips instead.

Humming approval, he ran his teeth gently beneath the other man's jawline, tasting the quickening pulse there. A light suck to the skin got him a tremor, so he repeated it more thoroughly and was rewarded with hitched breath.

It stood to reason Kuroba was sensitive to attention paid to his vulnerable spots. Saguru roamed down their slim neck to the shoulder junction, pulling back their collar so he could nose into the dip. He felt the assassin's fingers tighten before they slid around his waist and began to pluck at his shirt. When Saguru didn't try to stop them, Kuroba pulled up his shirt tails and made tentative contact with his bare back.

Wanting to encourage this behaviour, Saguru allowed another quiet hum from his throat and pressed forward. Kuroba's slender fingers began to climb up his spine, counting ribs and bumps until they touched the shoulder blades. Then they crept back down as if counting again before settling somewhere in the middle of the left side of his back.

It took him a moment to make the connection. That spot there was the ideal place at which to slide a knife between someone's ribs.

He huffed a short laugh and drew up, meeting the assassin's eyes. "I think I need to frisk you," he said, eyes alight with mischief. "Thoroughly."

That netted him a challenging look. "Try me."

Saguru moved to twist and pin Kuroba to the wall, but the former assassin reversed it and swept out his leg. Saguru hit the floor with a hiss of pain and immediately rolled to avoid being trapped on the ground. He managed to get to his feet as Kuroba threw out a punch. It narrowly grazed his cheek and Saguru retaliated with with a low jab to the ribs.

Kuroba took the blow with a grunt. He did not let Saguru get in another. The detective was kicked back towards the bed. He barely managed to retain his footing, but Kuroba was already driving forward, tipping him over the edge of the mattress and on to the covers. The other man loomed over him before he could get up.

Saguru stared up at Kuroba's triumphant grin and felt a flash of irritation. He grabbed a fistful of the other man's collar and yanked them down. "We're not done yet," he growled, before knocking up one of the assassin's legs and neatly reversing their positions. Kuroba hissed and thrashed, trying to get a foot between them to shove Saguru back. But Saguru straddled on one thigh and ignored the other as it flailed in the air. He also leaned part of his weight across Kuroba's body, using his heavier frame as a deterrent.

He felt the other man's hands scrabble at his shirt and reached back to grip one of his wrists. "Behave," he said, staring the assassin down. He tightened his grip as warning.

Oddly, this brought a flush to the man's cheeks. Perhaps Kuroba enjoyed a bit of rough play? What a happy coincidence - because Saguru was all too willing to humour that. He still had unfinished business with Kuroba's _organisation_ and its members.

That said...this was not a torture session; this was a lesson in pleasure.

Pleasure could be a form of torture as well.

He dipped his head and sucked hard on Kuroba's neck. That brought forth a strangled, cut-off whine. The assassin's lithe body arched into his, eliciting a pleasant friction. Pleased, Saguru introduced his teeth and was rewarded further with a flush of heat and another, less restrained gasp.

Those clothes really had to go.

Nibbling and sucking his way down one pale shoulder, Saguru blindly reached for the buttons on Kuroba's shirt and began to pop them out one by one. More of the other man's flesh was revealed to his wandering mouth as he pulled down the collar, allowing him to continue his journey over a surprisingly toned chest.

He was hyper aware of the unsteady rise and fall of the the other man's chest. Like this, like him, Saguru was reminded that Kuroba was still human despite his allegiances. No matter how much he hated Kuroba's people for taking his father from him, he couldn't stoop to their level.

He lifted his head, and with burning eyes he met the assassin's gaze. "I'm going to kiss you again," he said roughly.

The other man licked their lips. It was such a strange picture, a moment of vulnerability which he had never seen Kuroba show in front of him, that Saguru found himself entranced by the simple motion.

Kuroba said nothing, but Saguru rose up anyway and captured those glistening lips. This time the other man kissed back, pushing, nipping, testing the limits of Saguru's tolerance. Saguru pressed him back down into the mattress and continued to blindly unbutton their shirt, running a thumb up along the soft, sensitive flesh of the stomach.

The other man quivered. He smirked into the kiss and repeated the motion, revelling in the power these small titbits of knowledge gave him.

They parted and, oh yes, Saguru was quite pleased with those bruised lips and rouged cheeks.

"We won't be finishing until I hear you beg my name," he whispered.

Kuroba's eyes narrowed. He sneered and tipped his chin up haughtily. "I'll never beg anything of you," he spat.

"Is that so?" Saguru thumbed the corner of the former assassin's mouth. "Shame. Even Walter knows when to concede to me."

Kuroba tried to bite his thumb. "I'm not Walter."

Saguru smiled, retracting the digit before those teeth could latch on. "No," he agreed. "You're not."

The other man was an untameable, wild thing who bent their head to no-one and nothing. A predator whose pride was rooted in the deadliness of their claws and their fangs. He felt that wildness as he plied his touch. Kuroba rebelled at his attempts to claim him, refusing to sit meek and quiet while Saguru's teeth found the softer, vulnerable parts of his flesh. He choked back whimpers and moans but couldn't quite stifle the raspy breaths Saguru drew from him when a hand palmed the sack between his thighs.

True to his word, Kuroba never uttered a single plea. He didn't have to - Saguru took his sweet time warming up the body beneath him, first with his bare touch and then later with a modest helping of lubricating oil. He took particular pleasure in the sharp gasp he received when his fingers finally brushed the other man's prostate.

Somewhere along the way they had shucked off the rest of their clothes, leaving him with an unobstructed, tantalising view of his old enemy's burgeoning arousal. Where Kuroba had earlier shown open disdain, there were now only parted lips, darkened eyes, and flushed cheeks. This sight alone would have done for Saguru. But Kuroba had wanted a _thorough_ lesson.

He pressed again. The other man trembled, hands gripping the sheets. No further sound uttered. Disappointing.

Once more: this time slowly drawing the length of his finger along the spot. Kuroba tipped his head back and bit hard on his lower lip, a near inaudible whine making its way out of his throat. Better.

Saguru continued in this fashion, making sure that the passage was loose and relaxed enough to accommodate him before he withdrew his fingers. Kuroba watched with lidded eyes as the detective positioned himself carefully between the other man's thighs. Where the former assassin had earlier been trying to kick him away, those selfsame legs now wrapped willingly around his waist. Progress, Saguru thought smugly as he quickly oiled himself.

He eased in and marked the subtle shift in expression on his partner's face as he did so. Kuroba's eyes shuttered briefly. When they opened again, there was an unreadable mask in place. Why now, of all times, when the other man's carnal desires were already plain? His first thought was of the intimacy of the act: did Kuroba feel the need to actively hide how he felt now compared to their foreplay? They had established already that this was intercourse with no strings attached.

...Could it be that Kuroba felt some emotional investment in the act?

Saguru shook himself mentally. It was too disturbing an idea to contemplate at this time, that Kuroba might be anything more than an emotionless killer. Being human did not mean also having a heart.

He rolled his pelvis forward and focused instead on the here and now. A leisurely pace, a slow burn. Deep thrusts which penetrated as far as they were physically able. Saguru controlled the movements and motion to a frustrating degree and watched as the interminable pace drove the other man mad. Kuroba squirmed in his grasp, tried to force the speed by arching up, but Saguru kept him firmly in hand and rewarded each obedient settle with a brush against the sensitive spot he had found earlier.

"Fuck," Kuroba whispered, a light sheen of sweat beading his forehead. His knuckles had gone white with how fiercely he gripped the sheets.

"Is that a request?" Saguru asked evenly. He stared intently at the other man, a hot spike of arousal running through his gut when he nudged them _just so_ and got a full-throated moan.

Kuroba gritted his teeth. "N-no," he forced out.

Saguru leaned down, brushing back a lock of damp fringe to murmur in their ear. "I told you, we wouldn't be finishing until I heard you beg."

" _Fuck_ y--" The latter part trailed off into a strangled whimper. Saguru had finally decided to speed up, which seemed to be more to the assassin's liking. They writhed against him, short breaths panted hot and quick into his ear. And then he slowed to a stop and was perfectly placed to hear Kuroba's frustrated keening.

"Just... You...!" The other man growled and bucked fruitlessly. Their thighs squeezed his waist. Saguru refused to budge. Kuroba eventually went slack and averted his gaze, chest heaving with unsteady breath. In the silence, in the heat, the detective's ears caught their reluctant concession.

"...please..."

A part of him wanted to force Kuroba to repeat it louder. However, the humiliated look on their face suggested he best not try his luck. He was lucky Kuroba wasn't trying to strangle him.

He picked up the pace. Faster than he would have with Walter, but not so slow that it was another exercise in patience. He bent his head and sucked hard at Kuroba's neck, pleased beyond words to feel the other man conceding to him by tipping his chin back. Kuroba was curled tightly around him now, using both arms and legs as anchors to rock back against him as their movements naturally quickened in a frenetic, desperate, mutual desire to find release.

Find it they did: Saguru, with a rush of heat and explosion of white behind closed eyelids, and Kuroba, with a breathy moan the detective doubted he'd ever hear the man make again.

As the two slowly unwound from their high, a third, amused voice spoke up from the doorway.

"You look like you're having fun. Is there room for one more?"


	4. (A Fish) Out of Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are no longer volatile for Kaito; he has his father back, his mother has been 'taken care of', and he's now trying to find some meaning to a life outside the Organisation. The fairy, Walter, had been courting him on and off during everything that's happened. Kaito, on advice from his father, takes Walter to see the famed Tsukiji fish markets as a return gesture. A strictly platonic gesture (he tells himself).

They arrived in time to see one of the fishing trawlers inching in. Though it was still dark, workers and trucks and forklifts swarmed the place, performing last minute deliveries to the auction hall. Kaito and Walter stood well back and watched the hefty bodies of several tuna slide into the waiting hands of carvers who prepared the fish for display. It was Kaito's first time seeing the fish fresh off the boats. Their deep red flesh and silver skin looked identical to his untrained eye, but from the mutterings of the men around him he realised how wrong that assumption was.

Tsukiji was the territory of a different kind of expert. As soon as they stepped into the hall, the amount of eyes which swivelled their way caused him to stiffen. The canny, calculating gazes of veteran traders measured his worth, dismissed him as a competitor, before returning to the pallets upon which hundreds of frozen tuna lay. A cold mist tangled about their ankles as he and Walter paced the lines. Kaito, careful to avoid getting in the experts' way, admired those placed at the head of the pack. Meanwhile, Walter knelt thoughtfully beside a grizzled man and inspected a specimen with them.

"How do you measure their quality?" Walter asked in careful Japanese. Kaito saw minute twitches of movement from those in earshot. The old man beside the fairy gave them a shrewd look. Kaito pretended not to notice how their eyes lingered on him in particular.

They grunted. "Secret."

He turned away and moved on as Walter continued asking his questions in earnest. He knew the fairy had his own means of distinguishing good stock from bad and simply wanted to know the human means of telling the fish apart. But judging by the weight of the looks he was being given as he walked by, the fishers distrusted him. Perhaps it was the way he walked; the way he listened without appearing to listen. There was a reason why his trainers had discouraged him from infiltrating tight-knit communities such as this one: it was all too easy to sniff out someone who didn't belong.

He could see the wizened fishermen relax once he was well out of earshot and tried not to feel sour. Walter was different - Walter had a natural honesty about him that drew people to trust him. He was forthright. He was blunt. He did not wear one face to hide another.

Kaito bit his lip at the unpleasant turn to his stomach then slipped out of the hall just as the auctioneer's bell began to ring.

It was too early for the open market to begin trading so he spent some time staring out at the darkened sea.

He dimly remembered staring out over a not dissimilar harbour in America when his family had made the move to England. It had been cold then too; dark, but he had been bracketed by the warmth of his family. Not old enough to have given up clutching his father's hand, he recalled eyeing shifting waters beneath the gangplank up to the ship and wondering whether they would see any dolphins or sharks during the voyage.

Where was his mother now, he wondered? His father had taken Walter's olive branch and fled the organisation but she remained steadfastly with Them. Walter had told him he had adjusted her memory so that she wouldn't come after him again but that did not stop him from missing her vaguely.

The bell finally fell silent. They must be done, he thought, turning away from the harbour as a warm glow began to suffuse the horizon. Indeed, fish were already being transported to their new owners. Some precious few remained in Tsukiji; the rest disappeared into various vehicles bound for top-end restaurants in Japan and across the world.

The market was now beginning to stir. He sidled in amongst the earliest customers and cast his eye over what was on offer, musing over what he might cook for dinner later that night.

"You, boy! Over here!"

Kaito turned to see an elderly man beckoning him over. Bemused, he drifted closer. "Yes...? Hey!" He startled as the man grabbed his hands and yanked him forward. Had they not had such a firm grip, he would have drawn his knife.

They squinted at his fingers, running roughened palms over the digits before allowing him to take his hands back. Kaito stepped away, quickly shoving his hands into his pockets. "What was that for?" he demanded.

The old man's eyes crinkled. "You know how to use a knife. No," he held up a finger when Kaito tried to argue. "I know such hands when I see them. Scarred on the tips without the calloused palm of a labourer. Yes. Come in. I need your help."

They beckoned again and shuffled further inside. When they realised Kaito had not moved an inch, they scowled. "What, are you afraid of the fish? Don't stick your hand in and they won't bite. Hurry up now."

Kaito inched inwards, careful not to disturb the ice-laden trays on his way past. He joined the old man beside a selection of freshly caught salmon awaiting the knife.

"My brother hurt his hand yesterday, see. So I'm down one person to prepare everything. You help me carve these while I set up and you can pick something to take home." The old man set a slender knife on one of two heavy, visibly worn timber chopping boards. That was to be Kaito's station, it seemed.

Instructions given, the old man immediately turned his attention to a pallet of crates. Apparently the thought that Kaito might refuse his demand never crossed his mind. Kaito stared at the man's back for a few moments then shot a look at the knife and the tray of waiting fish.

"Just because I know how to use a knife, doesn't mean I know how to gut fish," he finally said.

The man snorted and flapped a hand. "Why would you come here looking to buy if you didn't know how to prepare them?"

Kaito opened his mouth to retort. But, ultimately, the comeback he wanted to give died on his lips.

He picked up the knife and got to work.

For the most part, the old man left him alone. He could hear their jovial banter, the friendly insults traded with neighbouring competitors. While his knife made quick work of each fillet, his ears idly listened to the man trade words and coin. The weather had been unusually cold the past week, he learnt. It had affected the fishers' hauls and driven prices up slightly. The winner of the best tuna at this morning's auction was a prominent name which Kaito remembered hearing about back in England. For the old man's part? He was proud to have outbid a rival over some choice shellfish.

He listened to their laughter and felt it all grow a little more distant again. Who was he, really? What was his place amongst these people? Trained to be a knife in the dark, Kaito had not the faintest idea how to turn his skills to more mundane professions. As his knife slit open yet another belly and neatly removed its innards, Kaito briefly entertained the thought of becoming a chef. Funny how people abhorred the thought of someone dismembering another human being yet did not raise an eyebrow at someone carving a lesser animal, he thought with morbid humour.

But he _was_ running low on funds. There were only so many avenues of work for an assassin hiding from one of the biggest underworld organisations in the world. He could hardly afford to be picky about where his money came from these days.

Once he was done, he called the old man over to appraise his work. They looked over the neat rows of fillets Kaito had laid out then nodded approvingly, giving him a firm clap on the back. True to his word, the old man let him have his pick of everything on offer at his stall. Kaito could have been greedy, but it felt ungracious. After making his choices he bid the man farewell, walking away with his cooler bag a little heavier and his heart much the same.

The markets were crowded now, stuffed with tourists and locals and the cries of hawkers lauding their wares. In the end it was Walter who found him loitering behind a crush of foreigners surrounding a skewer seller. Kaito was unsurprised to see the fairy holding two very large apples.

"Where were you?" Walter asked. "I looked everywhere."

Kaito silently held up his bag. Walter's expression brightened. He let them take it and peek inside. The fairy's nose wrinkled.

"They're acceptable, I suppose." The bag was handed back. Kaito scowled.

"You want to eat here or what?" he asked irritably. Walter hummed and cast his eye over the crowded little restaurants. Eventually he shook his head.

"Not here." The fairy began to walk back towards the main street, winding his way through the crowd with enviable grace. Kaito easily kept pace with him.

"Look what I found," Walter said happily, holding out a sprig of some sort of herb. That was his way of courting, Kaito had come to realise. Instead of flowers, the fairy found random bits of greenery and showed them off to him, enthusing about their quality and fragrance. Kaito reluctantly took the proferred sprig and sniffed it.

"For the fish?" he queried. Walter nodded. Kaito grudgingly decided he could accept it.

They continued along the street, the former assassin only half-listening, herb twirling idly between his fingers while Walter elaborated on the knowledge he'd gleaned in his talks with the fishermen. As Kaito guessed, the men had opened up readily to Walter in his absence. None of what Walter had learnt was what you could call a trade secret of course, but it was far more than anyone had been willing to let drop within his hearing. Which, really, reinforced the sheer level of distrust they had shown him.

Kaito's feet slowed to a halt, hand creeping up to his chest as an unseen tightness choked him. Walter immediately came to a stop as well and gazed down at him worriedly.

"What's wrong?" the fairy asked.

He was lonely, Kaito realised. Tired beyond measure, pining for intimacy he expected to never have again. With Absinthe seemingly vanished, he had no-one to confide in other than his father, whom Walter had liberated for unknown reasons. It was one thing to have a parent hold you and tell you everything would be all right. Quite another to have your partner do the same. He should be dead in some back alley, another nameless victim of the organisation he'd been forced to turn his back on.

Peeling his hand away from his chest, he reached out and clutched Walter's shirt. Then, before he could second-guess himself, he lifted himself on to the tips of his feet and kissed them.

Walter's lips tasted like apple: lingering sweetness and something softer. An earthy scent clung to their skin, like soil or moss layered on treebark. Hawthorn. He broke away quickly so he could glance at the fae's face.

He saw confusion. Surprise. But worst of all, suspicion.

Kaito snatched his hand back as though burnt, slamming down an impassive mask over his fracturing hope. Of course. Of course Walter would treat a sudden overture like that with suspicion. Kaito would have done the same. He had rebuffed every attempt to flirt in the past months, returned kind words with scathing humour and sarcasm, mocked the fairy for his kindness, and had even outright insulted him. Truth be told, he had no idea why Walter continued to hover around him. It certainly couldn't be for his company.

He pushed past the fae, striding ahead even though it was too late to hide the traitorous tumult of emotion in his chest from reflecting in his expression. What had he been thinking? That he would find solace or comfort in an alien being? Kaito's mouth twisted into a scowl.

All of a sudden, he was jerked to a halt by the elbow. He instinctively twisted out of the hold and threw a punch at the offender. However, Walter caught his fist and held it, staring him down intently.

There was a moment's pause. A heartbeat. Then the fairy bent his head and gently returned the kiss.

Kaito froze in shock. He tried to pull away but Walter rested a hand at the nape of his neck and urged him closer, moulding their lips together, deepening the kiss. Kaito's cheeks grew warm and that warmth sauntered through his neck then down into his chest, diffusing to various extremities of his body. He wavered, fist growing lax.

All too soon, the fairy released him. He was left breathing in their heavy woodland scent, giddy, gaping, lost for words. They had such dark eyes, Kaito realised. Like a bank of storm-grey clouds on the cusp of nightfall.

He abruptly realised he was staring. Staring without a single mask to hide his thoughts. And Walter was _beaming_ at him.

The former assassin did what he had been trained to do when caught in an unexpected, disadvantageous situation: he ran.


End file.
